


The Walls Our Shadows Touch

by poptod



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: Ancient Egypt, Desperation, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gen, M/M, Magic-Users, Murder, Politics, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poptod/pseuds/poptod
Summary: The sentence for desecration and murder is execution, but there’s something different about your case. Something odd. Ahkmenrah investigates.
Relationships: Ahkmenrah (Night at the Museum)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The Walls Our Shadows Touch

**Author's Note:**

> six days after i finish writing dead heed no lies and i've already finished another story. to be fair its only like 18k but still
> 
> disclaimer: this is NOTHING like my usual stories. Very dark themes and some angst. I’d also like to mention that the reader is shown to be autistic, and this story is meant to show the mistreatment of autistic people in history, not to glorify it. i’m autistic, so is my father, i do not mean any offense.

How deeply Ahkmenrah regretted his teen years past. He'd spent them well, in his mind, but he felt very often, especially now in front of the court, that he could've appreciated them better when he was in them. Despite his regret his teen years were spent in great energy, which quickly wore off when he became King. Even Piye, whom he had been friends with since a very young age, had noticed something switch within him. Maybe it was the attempted murder, but Ahkmenrah saw the change within himself. He looked in the mirror and found someone very different from who he wanted to be, an opposite of who he used to be. How far had he gone from himself that the murder of four people didn't in the very least upset him?

"I beg of you," the farmer asked, pleading on his knees before Ahkmenrah's throne. "It has taken my sons and the children of a great many other families. I implore you to do something."

Ahkmenrah watched on with a stone face, his finger placed delicately under his chin as he thought, casting a quick glance to Piye, his physician vizier, who nodded. Sighing as though it was any other court meeting, he turned back to the farmer and nodded. Relief instantly flooded his face.

"Very well," said Ahkmenrah. "I will dispatch soldiers to investigate this tomb. Whose is it agin?"

"His name is Umut, my father," he said in a shaky voice, bowing slightly when he finished.

Ahkmenrah motioned vaguely to the court scribe, who quickly took note of the name and status. The farmer continued to prattle off details, but Ahk quickly dismissed him, allowing a servant to take note of what he described. Even with the raised level of concern there were other things to attend to.

Like the sale price of palm leaves.

Court dismissed itself two or three hours later, leaving Ahkmenrah with a head aching from his heavy crown. He said nothing, standing and letting the silk and gold robes fall from his body, and left the room. Piye followed after him, catching up before slowing their pace to match his.

"Everything alright, Ahk?" They asked, a single brow quirked.

"Yes, just need some more of that medication," he said with a dismissive wave. "I'm interested in that case, though. I want to see how it turns out."

"Of course. I'll talk to one of the soldiers taking care of it, tell him to report to you," Piye said, pulling a scratch of papyrus and inking cuneiform into it.

"Why do you write those notes?" Ahkmenrah asked quietly, his intrigue overshadowed by sheer confusion. "No one can read them."

"They're for _me_ , I haven't got an unlimited memory," Piye said, tsking as though he'd asked a silly question. Chuckling, he pat them on the back, letting them return to their notes.

Piye had a wide variety of talents, most of them appearing after a mission (which was allowed for 'religious freedom') they had taken out into the desert. Ahkmenrah must've been twelve at the time, and Piye wasn't much older than him. A small part of him existed that wanted to be perhaps a little more like them – they were at peace with themselves, keeping an even temper and placing others before them. He was already a great deal like them, what with growing up together, but he wanted to be more content with who he now was. None of these thoughts were ones he would share with Piye.

The day ended as it usually did, with a nice meal and off to bed immediately after. The following day started as it usually did, with a nice meal and off to court immediately after. Before he knew it the evening came, and before he could relax the morn came once more, followed quickly by the setting of the western sun. No more interesting news passed by the palace, though usually that was a good thing. No interesting news meant nothing bad had happened, but it also meant nothing good had happened, leaving both the city and Ahkmenrah in a state of uneasy rest. On top of that, his headaches were beginning to worsen, made so by both the daily stress of life and the weight of his crown, metaphorically and literally. Unfortunately Piye was growing short on his medication, but in its' place alcohol did the trick. A soothing, special alcohol that blurred the pain away.

He was introduced to it on a warm evening, lounging on a blanketed carpet lit by the dim light of a the rushlights smoking away upon the table. Beside him, massive arches revealed the city in its' entirety, and surrounding him were tools of astronomers, a title he adored but could never have. In its' place he kept it up as a hobby, charting the stars and the directions the Earth took around them. His personal servant, Naguib, held a pitcher full of the red wine Piye had suggested for him, pouring a thin stream of it into his cup. With eyes still trained on the glowing lights of his lively city he took a sip, savoring the warmth and sweetness. He thought in silence for a moment, allowing his mind a rest from politics, and indulging in the rare times where peace won out.

The evening was disturbed in a grand fashion, and done well enough that Ahkmenrah didn't mind it too greatly. Sure, the doors did burst open, and yes that made him spill wine on himself, but the reward was worth the cost. A soldier came stumbling through the wide open double doors, carrying a mangled and dirty half-human in his grasp. Before Ahk could ask who or what this was, and before the human in ropes could speak, the soldier announced first his apologies and then his purpose.

"My sincerest apologies for disrupting your evening, my King, but I was ordered to give you news on the Umut case," he said, kneeling into a deep bow.

Ahkmenrah stood, setting his glass on the low table beside him, and tried hard to ignore the wet spot from wine on his waist as he motioned for the soldier to stand. He hated when people bowed before him – if it wasn't a tradition so engraved into everyone's minds, he would've changed it. But he saw it for what it was, something simple that offered comfort in familiarity, and he was not so disgusted by it to take away that respect people held for him and his family.

"Is this a victim or culprit?" Ahkmenrah asked when the soldier stood, looking directly into his eyes in a manner that could leave anyone stammering.

"This is, what I believe to be the murderer, but I cannot be sure. Not without your say," he said, fidgeting as he switched between holding eye contact and breaking it.

"You need me to make your decisions?" Ahkmenrah asked, raising a single brow.

"N - well, yes, when it comes to these matters," he stuttered.

Ahkmenrah turned back to the creature on the ground, starving and pale, covered in dirt and dry mud. You shook, practically vibrating as you tried to release your hands from the burning grip of the rope. Angry red lines circled your wrists, rubbed raw from the rope and your escape attempts, a visual that brought Ahkmenrah to wince.

"Very well, I suppose a court hearing is customary anyways," Ahkmenrah said with a sigh, directing his attention back to the soldier, who puffed out his chest as he saw Ahkmenrah meet his eye.

"Yes, my King. What shall we do with this until then?"

He could have you cleaned and put in a nice bed – even a servants bed would suffice, as from the looks of it, you hadn't seen a real bed in years. However, the law stated that a person was guilty until proven innocent. That law left him with little choice but to send you to one of the jail pits, just to keep you from escaping, until the time came where you could be properly tried.

There was something about you, though, something that haunted his mind the next morning. He could identify it as little other than a sickness, an uneasiness that boiled in his stomach, clouding the logical thought that he needed so desperately in court. No matter the issues that people raised, asking for his advice, asking for his word or for his actions, he kept circling back to you, the way you crumbled to the floor when his soldier no longer held you, the way you shook and shivered in the warm air. Whatever it was, it disturbed his daily routine so deeply that the next night he ordered one of his guards to fetch you from the pit he'd thrown you in and bring you to his study.

In that next night he entered his study, the familiar walls and open arches welcoming him into safety. A sparse layer of smoke sat above his head, emanating from the rushlights and burning incense, smoldering upon golden plates held up by thin chains. Naguib did not come with him this time. Neither did Piye, which was not a choice he commonly took – Piye offered a wealth of knowledge and advice, but he had no desire to follow their advice. Thus he stood at the door, scanning over the room before he found you curled into a corner, rope still tied taut around your wrists, and a parchment rolled out on front of you. You must not have heard him enter, as all you did was continue to scan the papyrus.

He approached you with quiet footsteps, clearing his throat when he stood in front of you.

"I wanted to ask you some questions," he said softly, waiting for you to raise your head, but you didn't. You curled into a tighter ball, your chest lowered to your knees, exposing the naked expanse of your back. He took another step forward and you flinched, cowering backwards. It soon became apparent that you would not react to things as most people did, so he wracked his mind for different approaches, before a thought came to him.

This time he knelt before he spoke, allowing for a few inches of space between your body and his.

"How do you feel?" He asked in that same quiet voice, the one he'd used multiple times to persuade people into different decisions. Usually he didn't use this talent, thinking it rather manipulative, but it certainly came into use every now and then.

Again, nothing but silence came from you. However as a few more seconds passed by you raised your head, your matted hair falling over your eyes as you stared at the ground. Now he could see you – the death in your eyes, the hunger in your hollowed cheeks, the way you continued to shake uncontrollably. The second he made to reach for you, you flinched back with your eyes shut tight. So he paused, and waited, offering his hand slowly till you no longer jumped, allowing him to grab your upper arm and pull you gently to your feet. A hint of a smile graced him at the progress, and with the same careful movements he led you to the couch and seated you upon the woven reeds. Panya, a friend of his, had suggested animal skins instead, considering they were softer and more comfortable, but Ahkmenrah found the reeds familiar and kind.

He took a seat on the floor across from you, a silkfur blanket soft against his crossed legs. For a moment he let you be, let you get accustomed to this room and perhaps to his presence, as you seemed the jittery type person who took longer to find comfort in things and places. Watching your eyes flit to the instruments in the room and to the bookcases of scrolls, he wondered if you were nothing more than a 'wrong place, wrong time' convict. You held softness behind your eyes, something subtle beneath your fear, something he longed to reach for but could not touch. He never met someone before who held that softness while simultaneously being capable of committing horrendous deeds, but to be fair he hadn't met many criminals of your supposed level. Murderers were not commonplace in Kemet, and less so in its' chief city, Memphis. Much of that he could thank his father for.

When at last your shaking began to slow, your breaths evening out, he reached for one of the glasses placed on the low table, pouring out soothing liquor into it and handing it to you. For a millisecond you met his eye, and while you immediately looked away he revelled in the silent accomplishment. You reached for the cup, taking it in an uneasy hand and resting it in your lap before he told you to drink. Still you refused to drink, a method you stuck to until Ahkmenrah poured another glass from the same pitcher, drinking it himself. After seeing that you smelled the wine, gauging its' scent and taste before you took the smallest sip. In encouragement he smiled, taking another swallow from his own cup before looking back to you, watching carefully as you took a bigger sip.

"It's wine, by the way. Nothing bad for you," he said, even now trying to get you to look at him, but you simply wouldn't. "Actually it's supposed to be good for you. It's special, in that way. It's called Shedeh if you've heard of it."

"It's... different," you mumbled, the words barely sounding underneath your breath, but he payed enough attention to catch them. Suppressing a grin he nodded, keeping his face set to a pleasant smile.

"I know you don't know me very well, but I'd like to know your side of the story. If you'd like, I can tell you things about myself, just so you may trust me a little more," he offered, setting his cup down on the floor beside him. When you said nothing, he took it as a time to introduce himself, as there was little else to do in hopes of earning your trust. "My name is Ahkmenrah, and if you weren't aware, I am your Pharaoh. I grew up with three brothers, and surprisingly I am not the eldest out of them. Actually, it was quite the scandal – my father crowned me King before my two eldest brothers, Khafra and Kahmuh. Kahmuh was the eldest. He tried to kill me. Didn't work, though."

Still nothing. Not even a reaction to the words he was speaking. All you did was stare at the ground beside him, your cup sitting still in your unmoving hands, the wine rippling softly by your breath.

"My father implored me to use the most severe of punishments for my brother. Said that his acts were treason against the throne, that he was a dangerous man, which... is actually true, the latter, that is. He was a very dangerous man. I didn't sentence him to capital punishment, which was what my father wanted. I gave him a thief's fate," he continued on, pretending you were listening. "Banished him to Nubia. We're at war with them, if you weren't aware, they despise us. Though, to be fair, we despise them, so... it's even. I'm working towards a peace. Needless bloodshed makes me sick."

Not even the tapping of a foot or finger – you didn't even blink.

"Are you aware of where you are?" He finally asked, a question that had been itching underneath his skin. Not the most polite way to ask, and not the most polite question in general, but he had to know. Some people were not aware of the world around them, which led to painful fates in a court of law.

You did not move.

"I can't help you if you don't say anything," he said, moving closer and trying to catch your eye. "Do you even know what's currently happening? People think you're a murderer. If you want to clear your name, or get out of punishment, you'll need to talk to me."

"It's not my fault," you whispered, barely doing anything more than enunciating the words and letting the smallest breath move past your lips.

He didn't know you. You knew him, at least now you did, but he did not know you. For some reason he took your word anyway – it wasn't your fault, but it wasn't complete renunciation of blame or guilt. He couldn't appear in court and just decide to spare someone accused of murder. That was playing with the law, playing with ma'at, and the consequence for that spanned past even his own power. Everything would be fine, he told himself, as long as you never perjured yourself, as long as you spoke and defended yourself, as long as you didn't actually commit the sin.

You were sent back into the pit for the night, as he could not give you any other commodity besides that without damaging his own integrity. There was something wrong with this, this strange attachment, his vested interest in you – you could very well be what his soldiers proclaimed you, and yet that did not waver his curiosity in the slightest. A strange situation to be fair, and not one he had ever experienced before. He would have to take it day by day, deciding so as he lay down in his large bed, staring at the canopy fading into the ushering darkness. The last rushlight died away and the world fell into night, letting him slip into the uneasiest of dreams.

He found himself awake before the rising of the sun, a thing that happened on rare occasions when stress got the better of him. Needless stress, too – all he had to do today was to plan the date of your hearing, as well as listen to the grievances lain out by citizens and noblemen alike. Noblemen always presented the city's most inner issues, and while it was not a tradition Ahkmenrah particularly understood, it got to the brunt of the problem, and presented it in a much cleaner and more succinct way than what he assumed a regular citizen would be capable of. Not that citizens were stupid, but, well, they weren't exactly educated, either. Most of them couldn't read, and practically all of them had little understanding of the law and how the city truly worked beneath Ahk's thumb. Ignorance of the power Ahkmenrah held over the city and its' inner workings wasn't a plague from just the lower and middle class – much of the rich families didn't understand just how much he controlled, either.

Upon noticing the King's wakening, Naguib called over a couple more servants, and together they dressed him in his usual golden capes and dresses. A thick, beaded collar was lain to rest over his shoulders, holding gold, lapis, and silver in an intricate pattern commissioned specially from a craftsman in Tanis. The servants ended with his cape, the dark material flowing well past his shoes where it piled onto the floor in sheer, soft waves. Once assured of his outfit's sturdiness, he looked at himself in the mirror, double checking every cloth and position of his arms. Appearances hadn't meant much to him in his youth, and while they remained an aspect of life he didn't want to bother with, appearances ruled political life quite a bit. No one trusted you if you couldn't dress yourself. No one listened if you didn't have the status.

After a tiny adjustment to his collar he turned, dismissing the servants and following Naguib towards the kitchens. The two of them passed by the scents and noises capturing Ahkmenrah's attention, but Naguib reminded him quietly that he was not allowed to eat with his chefs, and with a disgruntled mumble from Ahkmenrah, they headed into the dining area. As he took his seat at the head of the table he was presented with his usual platter of vegetables alongside a small roll of bread. Naguib made to stand at his side as he ate, as usual, but Ahkmenrah motioned for him to take a seat near to him. Hesitantly he complied, pulling out the chair as gently as possible and sitting with a stick straight back.

"We've known each other for a while," Ahkmenrah started off, picking up his utensils and talking as he took his first bite. Naguib nodded in confirmation. "You've got a better gauge on the workings of the servants than I do. Is everything going alright in that area of things? Any complaints?"

Again Naguib was hesitant, but in the end he spoke, never one for disobeying Ahkmenrah.

"They're happy with the wages and the living quarters. Some of them, uh... some of them dislike your vizier, but I doubt it's an actual fixable problem," he answered quietly.

Ahkmenrah hummed, thinking silently on his servant's words. Piye had gotten their share of remarks and sullen stares, but all of that stemmed from the fact that Piye was different, and most of Kemet's people did not enjoy the unfamiliar. Cloths and tools from foreign nations and worlds were alright, unique furniture and art was adored, but once it came down to humans and their innate differences, people suddenly had a problem. Ahkmenrah would not change his vizier – Piye did the job well and without complaint. He couldn't ask for more.

With the last bite he pushed his plate out of the way, letting the kitchen servers clean it up while he headed off to court. There he resumed his seat on the throne, the double-crown of Upper and Lower Kemet placed on his head, weighing heavy on his cranium as the first nobleman approached him. A case of infidelity was first told, the wife of the nobleman present beside him with the cruelest of glares on her face.

"This case is not of -"

"Just because _you_ think it doesn't matter doesn't make it so. You lied, I caught you, and you continued to lie! This isn't -"

Ngozi, a priest heralding the Atum cult, emerged from one of the court's side doors. He caught it out of the corner of his eye, barely listening to the petty gripes of this marriage. Once he approached the raised seat of the throne, Ngozi knelt in a small bow before speaking, whispering the words into his ear.

"There is an arsonist at one of our temples," he whispered, immediately catching Ahkmenrah's attention. "We caught him, but I assume you want to write his sentence?"

He nodded curtly, motioning for Piye to take his role for the time being while he stood, removing his crown and following Ngozi out the door.

No matter the occasion he was happy to be separated from court, from its' dull participants and the lengthy stories that didn't mean anything. There was no amusement, no zest in hearing peoples complaints, and while he knew that amusement was not the aim of court, he couldn't help from being half bored to death. Thus he happily followed the priest, heading down the long corridors and loggias before he entered the large courtyard outside the palace. The two of them passed by it and its' many crystal fountains, heading into the nearby city, before reaching the destination of Sekhmet's temple. Tall, ornate pillars held up the portico, the wooden doors burnt and the offerings desecrated.

"Make sure news of this does not get out," Ahkmenrah told Ngozi underneath his breath. Crime was beginning to increase, and if news of that reached the common people, they would not be happy. It wasn't even his fault – crime had a habit of waxing and waning, and it happened to wax under the so-far short rule of Ahkmenrah. Ngozi nodded, going to tell the other priests and Officials gathered at the temple's entrance as Ahkmenrah entered the temple, gauging the damage done.

Sekhmet would, if all went well, not punish them for something like this. As long as the one who'd done it was punished properly, she would not waste her powers on their kind city. Still, it was a painful sight to see how the statues carved into, paint running across her eyes and against the white marble floor.

Overall, the ordeal went well – Ahkmenrah was introduced to the culprit, a young man from Persia who knew neither their traditions nor the importance of their temples. Fear poured through his tears as he begged, pleaded for Ahkmenrah to save him. If only he'd known Ahkmenrah had little choice. Without punishment, his people would begin to doubt his fidelity, and Sekhmet may descend upon his home and devour its' peoples. With that in mind he gave the least painful sentence he could; execution by decapitation. No torture, no jail time, no starvation, no cruel death – just a simple one, a simple rule that the Officials happily followed and that left the man weeping and screaming of his own sorrow.

There was no doubt that he'd been the one who had done it. Several people had watched it happen, so trial could be easily skipped, but as he walked back to the palace alone his thoughts circled back to you. If anyone had actually caught you in the act, you would be killed immediately. Yet something inside him said, once more, you couldn't be guilty. Someone so quiet, so anxious couldn't have done it.

By the time he made it back to court several disagreements had been overlooked and solved by his vizier, whom he thanked well before resuming his seat on the throne, placing the heavy crown back on his head. Almost immediately pain flowed back into his head, which he pointedly ignored as a noble side by side with a blacksmith approached him.

"Our trade network with the Sumerians is growing strong, but we are losing the product they want. They've been asking specifically for decorative weapons crafted by Idogbe, he has a... special technique, his trademark, but we're having some difficulty with our agreement," the nobleman said, gesturing to the man beside him before gesturing to himself. "Our mutual agreement was that he would supply the weapons and metalwork and I would pay for the travel of the goods to Sumer, where they could be traded, but we've run into a problem."

"And that is?" Ahkmenrah asked, leaning his weight on the arm rest beside him.

"The workers mining for copper and such have gone on strike. I am not sure if you've heard news of this yet, but the man overseeing the workers is a man named Hasani, and he has not yet caved to the pressures of his workers," the nobleman elaborated upon himself.

"What is it you want me to do?"

"... intervene?"

Ahkmenrah paused. Hardly anyone was so straightforward to admit they legitimately didn't have a plan on how to get him to help them, but he admired the tenacity of this man.

"Alright. I'll see to it the workers are put under better conditions, and that this Hasani will be dealt with properly," Ahkmenrah said, his final decision on the subject. The nobleman and the blacksmith both smiled, bowing before they left with a great many thanks. Beside him, his scribe wrote down notes of the short meeting, before handing off the orders to one of the generals present.

For the rest of the day petty crimes and arguments were presented, most of them dismissed as they weren't important enough to call to an actual court meeting. Once the long line had been exhausted, Ahkmenrah dealt with the second chore of the day; dealing with plans for the rebuilding of Sehkmet's temple and the people's order for a new temple for Ptah. The planning for Ptah was easy enough – Ahkmenrah wasn't an architect, so he handed the plans for that to the palace's chief architect, Unas. As for Sehkmet's temple, he oversaw the planning and redesign with Piye by his side, offering short bits of quiet advice.

Only when he ate dinner that evening did he even recall your case, and with a quick order to Naguib to fetch Piye, note of the date was taken. In a few days you would be tried before court, and brought to either freedom or death. Ahkmenrah still didn't know many of the details – all he truly knew was that they found you related to the murders. He did not know who had died, he did not know where, nor the fashion they had died in, nor the state of the bodies after the crime, leaving him curious for the events of tomorrow. In the meantime he organized a smaller plate of food than his own, instructing one of the kitchen servants to take it to your pit and lower it in for you to eat.

Hopefully you would speak tomorrow. As servants undressed him and redressed him in sheer, soft cloth for sleep, he thought on your dilemma. By court rules you didn't actually _have_ to defend yourself, and he assumed you wouldn't – after all, most people accused in court brought forth witnesses to testify against the claims, but somehow he doubted there would be any witnesses whatsoever. If there were, they would've been presented already, and he would've met them.

Images of the day to come plagued him far into his sleep, tossing beneath his canopy and staring listlessly at the balcony right outside his room. He went over the outcomes of both your innocence and guilt, each one garnering a different reaction from him, a fact that both terrified and intrigued him. In all the cases he'd overseen, he was never attached to the accused nor the accuser. He'd have to deal with this – bias would do no good, only putting a question upon his authority and connection to the Gods and their holy rule of ma'at.

The next day passed as usual, going over cases and plans for new areas of the city as well as the repairment and arrangement for the two 'new' temples of Sehkmet and Ptah. Most of his day was spent sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking over papyrus sheets with Piye on his right and Unas on his left, and an array of Officials and architects across from him. While he did look over the plans, the chief of their design, practicality, and cost led the meeting himself. Unas had a knack for building, starting off with experiments as a child and growing into genuinely useful tools and buildings. Ahkmenrah met him in the middle of that transition, deciding to hire him as soon as he could, which had bred excellent results.

In the evening he lay in his study once more, enjoying the cushion of the silkfur blanket beneath him and the array of stars painted into the ceiling above him. The wind had stilled in the dusk's midst, allowing the smoke of incense to drift lazily upwards, filling the allure sky with a haze of grey. Several minutes ago he'd asked a nearby servant to fetch you from your jail, and in the proceeding time he waited patiently with closed eyes and even breath. Tonight, in the very least, he wanted to learn your name, though he'd be happy for any information about you in general.

After a long sigh he stood, pacing around the study before he noticed a parchment on the floor – the same scroll you'd been crouched over when he had ordered you here for the first time. Intrigued as to what you had found he picked it up, unravelling it and scanning over the papyrus. Charts and graphs lain on it, surrounded by hieratic scribbles, describing the flow of the seasons and the inundation, its' affects on the land and how the stars charted when it would come. There was no way you understood this – the slightest laugh left him when he thought of you looking over these studies. Perhaps you'd found the drawn images aesthetically pleasing; either way he rolled it back up, sliding it back into its' place on the shelf beside it.

Piye entered a moment later, opening and closing the door carefully behind them as they brought a reed basket filled with an assortment of bread and beer, as well as a vase of medicinal salve. A smile came across his face – the salve was one he'd tried before, made from a plant called shemshemet, and it worked wonders for headaches when massaged into the temples. They bowed before him, polite and curt before handing him the basket, allowing him to sort through its' content.

"What happened to your supply, by the way?" He asked as he sat the vase onto the table beside him. Piye took a seat on the floor.

"Some issues with the traders. A sort of... mini revolution, I suppose you could call it," they answered with a chuckle. "Do you want me to apply it?"

"It's alright," Ahkmenrah said, shaking his head. "I can do it myself. Much appreciated, though."

At his word Piye stood, bowed once more, then left the room. Looking back down at the assortment of items, he pushed the bread and beer aside, opening up the vase of salve. As he began to pour it onto his palm the door opened again, this time done so by one of his guards, who carried you in his grip. Rope once more encircled your wrists, forcing your arms behind your back. You did not raise your head – in fact, you made little acknowledgement that anything at all had happened, even when the guard threw you to the ground, your cheek mashing hard with the sandstone floor. Without word the guard bowed and left.

Ahkmenrah stood, silently helping you to your feet again, and sitting you back down in front of him, where he could see you as he began rubbing the palms of his hands into his temples. A light tingling sensation went through his head, a common response that he had come to enjoy the longer he used it. The last of the salve rubbed into his skin, and as it did he opened his eyes, setting them straight upon you.

Not much had changed in your demeanor – you still leant drastically forward, and although you were no longer kneeling you still pressed your chest into your criss-crossed legs. Matted hair prevented him from seeing your face and gauging your mood, thus leaving him with only one course of action.

He pushed one of the small loaves of bread toward you. Freshly baked, too, all for him, but he was happy to share. The drifting scent of fresh bread and the hint of honey laced into the crust had you just a little more upright, and though he still couldn't see your face he could tell you were hungry. Despite the way your stomach growled you didn't move, not even when he pushed a cup of beer in front of you. Instead with the next growl you curled further in on yourself, almost wincing as your eyes shut tight, pressing your forehead against the ground.

"You're hungry," Ahkmenrah said softly. "You need to eat."

You shifted, partially raising your tied up hands into the air. A soft _oh_ left him, and he stood, making his way to you and untying the rough and uneven rope. The moment it hit the ground you picked up the bread, first sniffing it before you bit in, taking a large bite and chewing slowly.

"Apologies. I should've noticed," Ahkmenrah said, feeling rather embarrassed. You didn't mind though, focused mainly on the food and drink in your hands rather than him, which he found no guilt in.

He waited till you finished, taking back the cup and setting it gently back into the basket as he took a bite out of his own loaf. The sound of your ragged breath filled the room, dulled by the shouts of parties from outside the wide arches, paired with the scent of the distant river. Evenings were often like this, quiet and contemplative and filled with the sounds of foreign mirth. Usually he even appreciated them, but sitting in front of you – all the world felt off, and the mere sight of you made him grateful that he had all that you didn't. Perhaps it was a tad cruel to compare yourself to him, to think of everything you didn't have, but he could think of nothing else when you closed your eyes and shivered in the warmth of his study.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"I don't... remember," you murmured, not questioning, only sad – as though you regretted not being able to tell him. It sent his heart into his stomach; the thought that one could forget their own name, stray so far from their humanity only to forget their origin. Perhaps that sickness stemmed from his love for his parents, but it unsettled him greatly.

"Shall we give you a name, then?"

Two knocks landed on the door frame, followed by a soft, "Ahk?"

He turned to the door, seeing the silhouette of Piye against the torchlit hall. They'd opened the door just a crack, only to whisper to him, and as he caught their eye they motioned for him to join them. Hesitantly he looked to you, watching your expression for any change. When you showed none (as you usually did) he stood, making to join Piye in the hall. Closing the door quietly behind him, he turned to Piye, waiting for their word.

"You know I have faith in your decisions and such, but is it really such a good idea to be forming any sort of connection with a murderer?" Piye asked, still keeping that same hushed voice.

"We don't know if they're a murderer yet," Ahkmenrah pointed out, earning a cold glare from Piye.

"Just... be careful. Don't make assumptions, don't grow too close, you know you have a nasty habit of doing just that," Piye warned him not for the first time. He actually did have a habit of that, and while it hadn't led him too far astray yet, Piye kept a wary eye out for him and his heedless kindness.

"I know," Ahkmenrah said, resting his hand on the door and pushing it open. "See you tomorrow?"

"You're not planning on staying in there all night, are you?"

Ahkmenrah merely winked, sending a playful smile before he reentered the study, shutting the door behind him. He stopped upon sighting the seating area, vacant and empty of your presence. For a second he panicked, thinking you'd escaped out one of the large arches, before spotting you beside the bookcase again, the same papyrus as before splayed out in front of you. A quiet breath left him and he approached you, stopping a couple feet away so as to not alarm you too severely. You spotted his sandals, you had to have, but you did not meet his eye – as usual you ignored him in favor of something you couldn't understand. He knelt down to your level.

"Do you like my library?" He asked in a soft voice, tilting his head to the left.

You looked up. You said nothing, but you looked up, meeting his eye for the first time. While he had seen your face before, you'd never actually made contact with him willingly. In the next second you looked away, towards your fidgeting fingers, but it was enough for Ahkmenrah. It was enough for him to realize this could not continue. In that moment you finally looked to him his heart had melted, dripping unease and a strange familiarity into his stomach. The only time he could recall anyone facing him with so little life beneath their skin, no hint of mirth or love, was when he faced himself in the mirror, a day after banishing his eldest brother from his home. That slip up, that tiny mistake had him empathizing with you, an emotion he would not allow himself to feel for one accused of such horrid deeds, for one he would have to punish.

This could not easily pass by unchanged. No, he would have to do something, something to lessen this strange connection to you, and with that in mind he called his guards and had you sent into the cellars. The guards locked you into a cell far below the ground, and all the while Ahkmenrah pretended as though the image of your haunted eyes did not plague his thoughts and dreams in the warm evening of Kemet.

He did not see you until your trial. Several days passed between your trial and the time where you finally faced him, and in those days he did think of you. Often. When it came to deal punishment, whether it be for petty crime or gross crime, he saw your face on every unfortunate person, and though these criminals cried and begged their apologies, he felt little sorrow for them. No matter how criminals pleaded with him for pardon, he never felt as bad for them as he did for you. Why that was he couldn't pinpoint – there was a good chance you were just pathetic enough to gain his pity, but there also lay the possibility that what he'd seen behind your fear was real, tangible life, and a story worth hearing and telling.

As time passed by, nothing felt quite real, like everything was only a precursor to the real start of life: the trial. The morn of the previously decided date he awoke with the most unpleasant jitters he'd ever had, forcing his heart to beat faster and faster the closer he got to the court. Breakfast was spent in absolute silence, a decision that left most of the chefs and servants unsettled. Usually Ahkmenrah was pleasant – well, pleasant enough, more pleasant than most children belonging to a royal family. The change was not a new one. Stress had a habit of changing those inflicted with it, and none more obviously so than Ahkmenrah. All the palace shifted into a quieter mood, and those who had grown used to the new kindness of a new Pharaoh grew silent, allowing only those who knew Ahkmenrah well to approach him.

"If you feel as though you cannot make a decision, you know I am willing to help," Piye whispered into his ear, standing beside the throne he sat upon. He nodded absently, tapping his finger on the armrest as he waited for the guards to present you, and for those who would testify against you. The carved gold beneath his fingers left dust on his skin, soft but irritating. Biting into the inside of his cheek he thought of you, of your guilt, of your innocence, and all the incorrect outcomes. He'd done this before, yet the visions grew clearer with the approaching trial.

At long last the guards arrived, one on either side of you, followed by the attestants only a moment later. You knelt before his throne in a half bow, your breathing ragged from fresh ropes digging into your already bruised and raw wrists and ankles. With everyone in place Piye stepped down from the raised ground of the throne, clearing their throat before they spoke, addressing both Ahkmenrah and the room at large.

"Before we begin, everyone participating in this trial must swear upon their life to uphold the sacred rule of Ma'at," Piye started with, raising their hand into the air, followed by the attestants. You did not move – you couldn't.

Once everyone had sworn themselves to truth, Piye began again, using the usual, clean cut speech prepared beforehand. "We are here to decide the fate of the Prisoner, who has been accused of the murder of five people. The evidence shows the gruesome death of four people upon entering the tomb of one named Umut for the purpose of offerings and respect. Several days later the soldiers went through the tomb, finding the Prisoner near the end, where the Prisoner proceeded to kill one soldier and seriously main the other, as claimed so by Pentu, one of the soldiers present at the time. Evidence also shows the Prisoner desecrated the tomb and ate the offerings set out for the dead."

Ahkmenrah listened carefully – he hadn't yet heard the whole story, but upon learning it his interest piqued. Originally he'd imagined you as someone walking amongst the streets who might've happened to stumble upon a gang fight of sorts, but this – this was clear cut. It was only you at the scene, it was you who injured his soldiers, it was _only_ you, with no friends or strangers to call to your aid.

"Lieutenant Commander User, step forward and present your testimony," Piye said, stepping back up the steps of the podium to stand beside Ahkmenrah.

User was, to say the least, an interesting person. Ahkmenrah didn't know him too well, but User taught him military training and self defense as a child, and he'd done his job well. Ahk's father trusted him, allowing Ahkmenrah to continue that trust.

"I was leading the search of the tomb. The second you enter the underground of that tomb, the smell of blood and rot just hits you – at first I thought that maybe someone had done a poor job of embalming, but there's – there were these pools of blood on the floor, splattered onto the wall," User spoke the words with a shiver. "This... creature, had killed those men and thrown their bodies back outside like they were nothing. Like their life meant nothing. Then there was the horror of actually finding it for the first time, curled up in that corner and looking more snake than human. Covered in filth and blood."

As he finished Piye nodded, the signal for him to step back and clear the floor for you. When you showed no signs of moving Piye intervened, stepping forward and helping you to your feet before leaving you to stand alone in the center of the room. All eyes rested upon you, your discomfort obvious and growing from the way you shifted and hid from the glares, flinching whenever you caught someone's eye. Minutes passed by and you said nothing, only continuing to flinch and recoil before tears welled up in your eyes and you spoke.

"Stop LOOKING at me!!" You yelled, tears flowing like streams down your cheeks as you fell to your knees, spouting nonsensical mumbles and cries. Bringing your head to the ground you curled your back over yourself, hiding yourself from everything and everyone.

You could do nothing but continue to sob, even as the guards grabbed your arms, attempting to haul you to your feet. This time you did not go easily – you twisted, sobbing and screaming as they tried to get a grip on you. Kicking and writhing you fell out of their grasp, falling to the floor and crawling away best you could with your feet tied together and your hands behind your back. Ahkmenrah winced when one of the guards grabbed onto your ankle, pulling you back. Your skin scraped against the rough sandstone of the floor, leaving streaks of blood on the floor, and raw skin against your chest and cheek. All the while you screamed, begging for them to stop touching you. No one had asked for that before. No criminal in their right mind would ask for that – no, the smart idea was to ask for mercy, not to hang on the preference of not wanting to be touched, but thus far, having you stray from the norm was not unfamiliar.

"Release them," Ahkmenrah ordered, glaring at the guard who'd grabbed your ankle. Instantly he dropped you, your hips and legs cracking against the hard floor, drawing a pained whimper from you.

Sniffing as sobs shook your body, you stayed right where you were, splayed on the ground with your limbs tied back like a beast. Some people, including Ahkmenrah, continued to stare, while others looked away, ashamed to have seen such an outburst, ashamed to be in the same room as you.

"Do you have anything to say in your defense?" Piye asked once the shivering had regressed into ragged breath, drawn slow and weak.

You said nothing.

The rest of the testimonies passed by quickly, and by the end of it those present at court were assured of your guilt. Even Ahkmenrah admitted it – you had definitely committed this sin, the blood of his people was on your hands, in a terrifyingly literal way as dried blood peeled off your hands like dirt. Soon, Ahkmenrah would have to decide your fate. Murder alone would've gotten you in hot water, as the typical punishment would be torture and imprisonment, but you hadn't just committed that crime. You desecrated a holy place, a world unearthly but not quite Godly. The only punishment for that was execution.

Murmurs from the crowd died down as Piye stood, looking to you and addressing you as you knelt with sunken eyes.

"How do you plead?" Piye asked, the words clear in the stark silence of the room.

"I am guilty of what you accuse me," you said as you raised your head, looking Ahkmenrah directly in the eyes, "but it is not my fault."

The second your admission slipped past your lips two of the guards present grabbed you by your elbow, keeping you in place, just in case you thought of escaping. However you did not move – your gaze fell to the ground again, but you did not move. You did not writhe in their grasp and you did not sob. Now came the time to give his verdict, to set upon you his judgement and his punishment for your crime. Part of him existed that loathed you – he didn't know the names of each of his soldiers, but he knew their loyalty to him, and their pledge to protect the city he and his soldiers loved. He despised anyone that went against that love, and he despised those who did not respect the dead and their homes on earth. He despised you, your actions, the way you sobbed, the way you twisted his thoughts and gained some sick form of respect. This hatred for you fueled his decision – he _let_ it fuel his decision, and at the end of the day, he let it consume him.

"You will be kept in prison for an unspecified period of time, till it has been decided your method of execution and burial, if it is so decided you deserve one," Piye announced, both to you and those watching. To them it seemed a fair punishment, finding little fault in that end, but guilt gnawed at Ahkmenrah.

There was something more here. Something wasn't right, and he needed to set it so.

+

"You say it's not your fault," Ahkmenrah said, his tone growing more and more soft-spoken as the evening passed into midnight. He sat in the dirt, pressed against the bars of your cell, looking in to find nothing but darkness. Near the entrance to the long, underground hallway housing the many cells beneath the palace, a torch was lit, casting shadows and flickering in the drafts of wind. Unfortunately the entrance to the hallway was rather far, leaving you and Ahkmenrah in general darkness, a black strong enough that he could not see inside your cell. He could barely see his own hands, much less the far corner where you sat.

"Did someone make you do it?" He continued when you did not reply. The only marker he had to tell him that you hadn't escaped was the fact that every now and then your clothes would rustle, bare feet digging into the earth and crackling in the dry air. "Do you remember your family?" He asked, realizing you were not yet willing to answer questions related to your imprisonment, and needless to say, he had a great deal of curiosity for your origins.

"Yes," you whispered out, your voice hoarse from the screaming you'd done several days ago amidst the court.

"What about them do you remember?" He asked as he sat up a little straighter, encouraged by your response.

"I hated them," you said through gritted teeth, and despite the anger in your tone, your voice remained weak. Broken. As though whether or not you answered, it didn't matter, and it never would.

"Why?"

Nothing. He waited a minute or two, but you remained silent.

"May I ask you one more question?"

Something rustled behind the bars.

"One."

Pressing his hand into the dirt between his freedom and your capture, he opened his mouth, preparing his last question, but before he spoke he thought a moment. It'd have to be a good question – one you would legitimately answer, one that wouldn't make you crawl further into that hole of isolation where nothing existed but you and your torment.

"Are you afraid? Of your sentence," he murmured, staring at the earth between his fingers before his gaze flickered to you, his eyes adjusted just enough to see the outline of your tiny frame.

"No."

Your answer haunted him. _Plagued_ him. People said they weren't afraid of death, soldiers and warriors claimed that the thought of death did not upset them, that they would die like men, but fear always laced their tone. If it didn't, it swam in their eyes, too deep to overcome and too dark to find your way through. Not you, though – the sheer apathy in your tone, Ahkmenrah must've imagined you being smug about it. There was no other answer, as all he could picture you looking like as you said that word was smiling. He'd never seen you smile before, so he made up an image of what he thought your smile looked like – cold, and heartless, and worthless.

Deep into the next week he thought of your conversation, the conviction in your tone, and the thought that someone could genuinely not be afraid of death. Fear of death was natural – death could be painful, leaving much of your friends and family behind, and while you would still see them in the next stage of existence, that fact did not cancel out fear of both the unknown and fear of pain. He wondered, while listening to the petty gripes of those lower than him, if you even _wanted_ a proper burial. There was always the chance you wouldn't – it meant less arranging and planning for him and Piye, but it would leave him far more dissatisfied than a proper burial would. At least in a proper burial he had the chance of seeing you in the afterlife again, and somehow the thought of that made him happy. The thought of seeing you past all that dirt, past the quivering and the dread.

Of course, he could see you like that any time he wanted – all he need do was pardon you for your crimes, clean you up, and have you live a normal, happy life in the palace at his side, but he wouldn't risk that. He felt as though he knew you, but he knew that it was just a feeling, and not at all reality. If he offered that life to you, you could very well betray him, murder him, murder those he loved, and even with that in mind, that wasn't the end of it. If he offered that life to you, he'd give up a fair amount of trust. There was a large gathering at your trial, each of them knew the evidence presented, and each of them would grow into a nasty distaste for him. He could not let that happen – as Pharaoh, trust was of the utmost importance, and he would not squander that just to see you happy. Even if he wanted to.

Two weeks into your imprisonment and his curiosity won out, his need growing such that he ordered several servants to pull you from your cell and bathe you. His logic (which he thoroughly explained to each of them) was that living in filth and being utterly filthy yourself was simply inhumane which, technically, wasn't too far off the left side. Compared to many other countries Kemet was far cleaner, and as a result saw a decrease in disease, famine, as well as an increase in education and propriety. People acted the way they were treated. Thus far you'd been treated like an animal, and you'd reacted in kind.

Now came the test – he sat beneath beneath the arch of a long loggia, lined with doors leading to bathing rooms and other such commodities. The sun had risen far above the palace, shining onto the marble and alabaster which glowed white beneath its' holy gaze, warming the half of Ahkmenrah's body that hung outside the palace walls. His golden dress drooped there as well, reflecting the light like a beacon.

Dresses with gold sewn in had originally caught his eye as gaudy and flashy, but he'd grown accustomed to it over time, and found the material to be much softer. He didn't have much of a choice, anyway – Pharaohs had to show their wealth somehow.

A breeze blew past the arches, bringing with it the scent of the nearby Aur, and the drifting love of freshly baked pastries and carefully dried dates. Everything about this world, _his_ world, was perfect, and he'd never ask for more than the ability to keep it so. The streets far below him chattered with the sounds of the many people gathered there, markets stretching from the palace to the river and back again. With the sun on his skin and the wind passing by, he almost felt perfect, and the idea that he was betraying his people by doing this for you slipped out of his mind. It only returned when the door to the bathhouse opened, steam escaping in a soft cloud that one of the servants stepped through.

"We're finished," she told him quietly, watching as he stood and bowing when he walked past.

The warmth of the closed off room was almost suffocating, but he'd endured it many times before. It was a wonderful place to be in the winter, but in the summer it was more uncomfortable than anything, which led to most people choosing to bathe in the Aur. Ahkmenrah couldn't blame his citizens for that – of course, he didn't do that. He stuck to his lavender soaps and honey scrubs, all of which had been used on you with his explicit permission to do so.

Glancing around the room his eyes locked onto the only bath occupied, finding you with your knees hugged close to your chest, your face buried between your knees. But your hair wasn't matted anymore – your skin was no longer grey from mud, the blood that had settled itself beneath your fingernails had disappeared. However your nails still dug into your skin, deep and harsh, and in the crescent mark dug by your middle finger, a hint of red turned to a drop of blood descending down your wet skin and dissipating into the water you sat in.

Looking over his shoulder he motioned one of the servants over, telling her quietly to fetch actual clothes for you, instead of gifting you back to the too-small rags you had been wearing. She complied with a nod, returning quickly with a plain servant's skirt. That would do perfectly, he thought – nothing too flashy, that'd draw far more attention than wanted or necessary.

As always, any restaurant was open to his choosing, and as always he knew the detriment of eating outside the palace. Everyone wanted to prove their worth to him, prove they were good and kind citizens under the rule of Gods upon earth – the thought of it unsettled him greatly, but he told no one, not even Piye. All his life he'd been told he was Osiris' son, a walking miracle, but as he watched your tiny frame get dressed into the cheap skirt, he felt as though he was little more than a boy, whose choices meant nothing to the world. He doubted himself greatly as he took your hand, wondering silently if he was making a massive mistake, paranoid of the things Piye would tell him when they found out about what he'd done.

In this moment however, it was only you. Behind your ratted hair your eyes shined, glinting and curious, and the second he recognized that spark he knew he was right. There was more here, more to you than death and famine. Ahkmenrah believed everyone had a soul worth saving. His people did not. That was what set him apart, and that was what he hid from each person who knew him. You were the only one he could show himself to, _you_ , his little project, and he knew your silence would keep you as his.

He led you down the steps of the raised floor, out into the long hallway whose arches showcased the whole span of the city, rich and beautiful in a way Ahkmenrah had always been able to mimic. When you set eyes upon the world beyond the palace, you did not smile – you showed no reaction whatsoever, and while Ahkmenrah should've been used to that at this point, he couldn't help but find himself a little disappointed. A certain desire had made itself clear in his head; a want, or a need, to show you beauty. To take you away from the grime you knew, to make you beautiful, to make the world around you beautiful, and then maybe everything would be alright. Maybe he could rescind your sentence. Maybe you would be happy.

But that fantasy did not quell the guilt boiling in his stomach, sinking into his veins like a venom only self-hatred could produce. He looked to you, to your clean skin and brushed teeth, and he didn't hate you. Perhaps he should've – perhaps he should've hated you more than he hated himself in that moment, but he didn't. Something wouldn't let him, but for the time he focused solely on you, and bringing you to have one good dinner. Just one.

Under Ahkmenrah's kind reign, there hadn't yet been many murders or murderers – most of the time, they were killed where they stood, as most of them took place in broad daylight. Of course, the low number of murderers during his reign most likely had to do with the fact that he hadn't actually been King for very long. He could tell, however, the second he entered the dining room, that showing you off in public would bring great discontentment within his people. The chefs and servants gawked at you, sending quiet glares towards him. They'd never say anything, they couldn't, but the reserved wariness was there.

Sitting you down at the table, he watched as you stared at your hands silently, only leaving when he was assured you wouldn't bolt out of the room. Taking aside the main server he warned them, saying you were sensitive and to be careful around you. The server clearly didn't want to be careful, but they nodded anyway, just as any other man below Ahkmenrah would. With that finished he sat down beside you, offering a kind smile as he adjusted his intricate dressings beneath him.

"I wanted to show you some kindness, just so you may experience it. I can't imagine you've gotten much of it during your time in Kemet," he told you, a brief explanation as to why you were there. As usual, you showed no inclination towards him, nor any indication you were even aware he was talking. At last he asked, "you are aware you're allowed to talk, right? I won't hurt you for anything you could say. I don't enjoy hurting others."

"I don't doubt that," you whispered out, still staring at the empty table in front of you.

He perked up a tad upon hearing that – a minor accomplishment really, but it was nevertheless good to know you didn't think he'd hurt you. Unfortunately it _did_ beg the question as to why you still acted scared of him. He had considered the idea that perhaps this was just how you acted, that you were generally a timid person, but he didn't feel it was likely. Another gut instinct that there was more to you than what you showed.

"Are you alright with answering some of my questions?" He asked, putting his elbows on the table and balancing his chin on the back of his hand. You shrugged – nothing more, nothing less, leaving the conversation a vacant room full of only Ahkmenrah's thoughts. "If I tell you more about myself," he offered, hoping it would work like last time, "would you be willing to answer a couple questions?"

"Depends," you mumbled, but when it came to you, that was as good as a 'go ahead' from anyone else, so Ahkmenrah took it as another good sign. In the very least, you were talking much more than you had been when you'd first been found.

"Thank you," he said with a smile, one that you actually noticed. "How about I tell you about some of the palace Officials? They've got some interesting stories, gives some insight into who I am as a ruler, considering the lot of them are hand-picked by me. Hmm... well, there's Piye. Piye's very fun, I've known them from a rather young age. Their father was a man named Adom – he died, a while ago. Do you happen to remember when our city was sacked? Do you recall it?"

"There were soldiers," you said, still looking ahead at the table with a thousand-yard stare.

"Yes. Soldiers with white skin, they came and... well, bad things happened, but at least their occupation didn't last long. Anyway, Adom, Piye's father, he was the palace physician under my father's rule. Piye was set up to do that as well, but I offered them a different position as my Vizier. Meant a lot more work, but they were just happy they weren't a priest. They don't think priests have actual magic though, to be fair, Piye has a very special control over magic that I've only ever seen in their family. Then there's Unas, he's my head architect. Very smart man. I also met him at a young age, some time in my teen years, so later on than Piye. His wife, Panya, had a great distaste for me when we met." He laughed as he recalled that – their little rivalry had led to some less-than-fantastic decisions, but he was delighted all the way.

"There are lots of interesting people in the palace, but I'm probably closest with those two, and... maybe Ta'i. Ta'i is the caretaker of our library, the large one. Not the one in my study. We've a fantastic collection of knowledge, but it's only readable to the few, which I feel is rather unfortunate. My father believed it to be safer that the average civilian not know how to read, but I've always had this disappointment that much of our art is unreadable to our own peoples," he said as he scratched his chin, watching the distant wall with a thoughtful gaze.

"I miss... reading," you murmured, your hands tightly clenched around each other as you continued to stare at the polished wood of the table. Ahkmenrah's eyes widened.

"You can _read_?" He asked with sudden urgency, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward. "Wait – I can get you something. Would you be willing to read it aloud?"

When he finally came to his wits enough to notice your expression, he almost laughed at how wide your eyes were and how far back you'd leaned to get away from him and his excitement. He managed to hold that back, but he couldn't help his smile – this was _monumental_ for you. This was a massive peek into your past. Hardly anyone knew how to draw hieroglyphs, and even less knew how to read them, allowing for a major narrow-down into your childhood.

It was sick, acting as though your past was something to be discovered. He acted as though he had a _right_ to your history. But this thought did not occur to him, especially not when you agreed to reading to him, so long as you got to read something, anything, again.

He stood and left you there, quietly informing one of the guards at the door to make sure you didn't go anywhere while he ran off to the library. Footsteps pounding a rhythm into his head, he turned down the halls, flying up several staircases before he came to stand before the small, wooden door of the library, its' outside inconspicuous for its contents.

Rifling through the many scrolls stored within the shelves, he caught eye of a more recent poem given to him by a friend from Thebes. He took it, barely looking over it before he gripped it tight in his hand and ran back through the library, back into the hallways and staircases, till he reached the door to the dining room. There he stopped, panting as he came face to face with the guard he'd spoken to earlier. She gave a curt nod and smile, which Ahkmenrah returned, before reentering through the door and smiling when he saw you still sitting there.

He took his seat by your side once more, offering you the scroll with his wrist upturned. Slowly you looked to him, then to his hand, only then taking the scroll from his weak grasp. As you unravelled it, your eyes drank in every bit of information presented. Once you unravelled the whole of it, you began to read, using a soft voice that showed little emotion.

"I have shattered seven seas to be here," you murmured, eyes scanning the page with a quiet adoration. "As I once shattered hearts so fair as death. And now that I have arrived in hand, I find it barren as trust seeps in breath. I have shattered my own soul to be here. I have climbed mountains arid and anew; dug trenches to fight evils seen by seer. In the white of death I have still loved you. I have shattered the flames of loving earth – Forgone the words of poets and kings alike. You have let your worst mistake choose your worth. You have sat in dark and prayed for Gods’ strike. Come with me, see the light of day again; Beg that all will keep their word in my step."

You looked over it once more, memorizing every letter before you rolled it back up, setting it on the table and pushing it nearer to him.

"That's fantastic. It's wonderful that you can read, not many can... I actually have difficulty with it. Skipped too many lessons, I suppose," he chuckled, taking the scroll back and setting it on the other side of the table. Food would be arriving soon, and the two of you needed plenty of table-room for it. "At one point, actually," he continued, "I tried to teach it to a friend of mine. They picked it up pretty well, all things considered, but they certainly could've picked a better teacher."

He had grown used to you never truly looking at him, but it didn't stop disappointment tugging low in his heart when you did nothing but stare at the scroll. Your habit had shown itself enough times for him to not be offended, which was a fantastic trait for an all-powerful Pharaoh to have, even though Ahkmenrah wasn't aware of himself having this particular trait. When your hair fell in front of your eyes much like it had before your clean up, he fought the need to push it away. To see the whole of your face. If only he could have that control – but things were never that easy, a lesson he learned long ago.

A silence stretched, one he allowed in hopes of you finding comfort in the easy rest of conversation. It had been clear from the beginning that you disliked talking, or in the very least you disliked talking to _him_ , thus leading to his idea that silence may help you. He didn't know for sure, but by the way your shoulders began to relax just a little, brought up to your jaw instead of your ear, and as small as that victory was, it still brought a smile to Ahkmenrah's face.

Several minutes later and two servants passed through the kitchen door, each carrying two platters of food upon clay plates, each uniquely made with great care, and painted in just the same manner of eloquent intent. With much grace the plates were set down in front of the two of you, the scent of fresh vegetables pan-fried in a number of spices drifting all around. On each of your plates you had a small roll of bread, slathered in honey and paired with a strong beer in your cups.

Ahkmenrah immediately went to grab his utensils, stabbing into the assortment of vegetables, only pausing when he noticed you staring at your food unmoving. He took a bite before addressing the problem, appreciating the flavor he so often could afford.

"Are you not hungry?" He asked as he set down his fork. At his words you sat up a little straighter, looking to him, then back at your food.

"I can eat this?"

"Yes," he said, doing his best to stop from laughing, but a smile came to him anyway. "I had it made for you."

You took another moment to process his words before you moved into sudden action, going from stock still to grabbing your fork and taking a massive bite into your food in less than a second. Satisfied with your reaction he turned back to his own food, checking in on you every now and then as he ate, making sure you were eating as well.

"May I ask you my questions now?" He asked when he finished, taking a sip from his cup. You hadn't yet finished, but you ate much slower than him, taking pauses here and there. As your gaze flickered to him you nodded, turning right back to your plate. "Where have you been staying? Were you on the streets, in a hostel, something like that?"

You swallowed, thinking for a while before you answered.

"I never left the grave," you finally answered, the usual pain the mention of your past brought with you vanishing in your vacant, resigned words.

"You lived in the tomb?" He asked softly, internally wincing at just the thought of it. "How long?"

"I don't know," you told him truthfully, squeezing your fingers anxiously till the blood cut off. The both of you sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of your words fully set in before continuing into happier subjects.

"Do... do you remember where or - or how you learned to read?" He asked.

"My parents," you said.

"I thought you hated your parents."

"The two facts are not mutually exclusive," you said, once more surprising him with a vocabulary most citizens did not carry.

There it set itself in his mind – your history was beginning to piece together, and by the end of the meal he was assured you were not born as you were now. He personally saw your return to your cell, offering no comfort except a smile when the lock clicked around the door. However you did not return to your corner – you didn't stare at the floor. In a decision that both unsettled and confused him, you placed your hands around the bars of your cell, staring at him directly in the eye, as though to say _this is all your fault_. He couldn't let you see how harshly your petrifying gaze affected him, so he left you there without another word. He could do nothing but that and maintain his self-respect afterwards.

You had, in many ways, truly become his little side project. Not that you'd know it, no, he kept that information far from you. He ordered his archivers and scribes to search for families who lost their children, seeking for that one couple who would fit the description of you. He looked into the psychological conditions that living in a grave could bring, as well as several conditions that appear at birth, hoping for a descriptor of your personality. His interest grew into a sort of obsession, one he did not notice until it was pointed out to him. That only happened when Piye, whom Ahkmenrah had been trying to hide his behavior from, found out.

"You _are_ aware that despite the trauma this person went through, they still did horrible things, and their trauma does not make them exempt from their actions even if it caused them, right?" Piye asked him, giving a perfect explanation of every guilt weighing on his shoulders that stemmed from his interest in you.

"But people can grow," he insisted, leaning closer to Piye as he spoke, adamant that his view was correct. "You know that better than anyone."

"No, _you_ know that better than anyone," they hissed, fingers curling into a tight fist. "You think anyone can be saved just because you were. You want to know why you hold onto that? Because you feel bad. You feel guilty for what you did, and now you're trying to rectify that by making useless attempts to save someone who is far past saving. Anyone can see that."

He pressed his lips into a thin line, every muscle in his body tensing at the thought. You were _not_ too far gone. You could be saved, he knew this, as once he hated himself so dearly he thought himself beyond kindnesses reclaim.

A long while ago, he was a horrid person – Piye was the only one to tell him this, and from that point his self-doubt began in the best of ways. Piye helped him, _saved_ him, and now he needed to convince them that you were worthy of such care too. Anyone could be – if a man as cruel as he was could be turned, then a broken person forced into killing could be, too. All he needed to do was to make Piye see that, but he didn't know how. Not without Piye's help, and therein lay the issue; they didn't _want_ to help. They had no desire to see any good aspect of you, too caught up in the fact that you did, irrevocably, murder five men.

If he were to look at you from Piye's perspective, which was a perspective filled with reverence for the Gods, he could've seen their hangup in seeing anything worth saving in you. To Piye, the desecration of offerings was just as good as a murder – the soul needed food to survive, to get into the afterlife, and by withholding or stealing this food from them, you essentially steal the rest of what would've been a happy existence. Ahkmenrah was, however, not willing to look at the situation from Piye's perspective. He already knew their thought process, he knew they wouldn't like this project of his, and now that Piye was aware of it, there were certain precautions Ahkmenrah would have to take.

"I know we have our differences when it comes to this," Ahkmenrah said in a low voice, praying Piye would truly listen to him, "but you cannot tell _anyone_ about this. At all."

"Of course I wouldn't. I want you to stop, not to be dead," they chuckled, crossing their arms. "Ahk, you have to realize that this isn't a good thing. How long have you been doing this?"

"I don't know," he said with an exasperated sigh. "A week or two after their incarceration is when it started, I think."

"Your judgement is getting clouded. You can't afford that as Pharaoh," Piye reminded him in a much softer voice. "You should've known to stop the second you realized you had to hide it."

"I'm only hiding it because no one understands," he snapped, breaking from his anger only when he saw the shocked expression Piye gave him.

"Fine. You do whatever the Hell you want to do, and leave me out of it. Don't come asking me for help if your people start hating you," they said cooly, standing and leaving with a curt bow.

Ahkmenrah groaned, hiding his head in his hands as the consequences of his choices began to truly settle into reality. He chose this – he had known all along that if found, things would not go well for him. It wasn't even a question of if. When it came to Piye, it was always a matter of when, as Piye could always tell if he was lying. Of course, everything becomes far more important once its irreversible. If he wanted to, could he pull himself out of this, out of your mystery?

He didn't know.

+

"You want me to do _what_?"

"It's -"

"No, you know I'm not a priest, I hate those guys," Piye said with much vindication, pointing an accusatory finger right in Ahkmenrah's face.

"I know you're not a priest, I'm not saying you are," Ahkmenrah said, trying to keep up with their words, while simultaneously making sure you weren't on the verge of a meltdown.

"Then why -"

"I just want your healing abilities! That's all, I just need your help," Ahkmenrah interrupted them, already exasperated from his attempts to convince Piye into helping him.

Piye looked to you, then back at Ahkmenrah, that same angered expression present on their face.

"Fine," they spat. "Only because you're Pharaoh. If you were still prince this wouldn't be happening."

"Certainly appreciate your honesty. Can we move on now?"

They sighed but acquiesced with a small nod, leading you to sit on the soft blanket spread out across the pure-white marble floor. The smell of flame and incense drifted from the indoors of Piye's house, coupled with the scent of the distant river. Evening had descended upon the land, allowing the stars to shine brightly above them on the open-roof deck of Piye's home, which was kept purposefully close to the palace. From where the three of you stood, Ahkmenrah could truly see his city beyond the high towers of the palace – beautiful and lively, full of the mirth his people carried with them, happy and lucky to belong to this great country. All around them other families sat outside, enjoying fire pits and pleasant meals with one another.

Not Ahk, though – he was dressed in commoners clothes, sneaking you through the city to have a midnight meeting with Piye in hopes of diagnosing you with a definitive disorder. Ahkmenrah was assured that you had a disorder – Piye believed it to be more of a disease, one brought about through sin, and he couldn't deny the plausibility of that. Despite Piye's thoughts on the subject, he went forward in believing you had a disorder he could know and, in time, help to work through with you.

Ahkmenrah sat down nearby, watching as Piye lit two rushlights, placing them just so on a plate to keep their smoke lining a straight path into the distant sky. The blanket beneath the three of you soothed any aches with its soft feel, a pleasant difference from the cool of marble floors. In the corner a couple pots of water and beer sat, coupled with the small statuettes of Anubis, and the bushy vines overgrowing the edge of Piye's porch.

"Do you feel any physical pain?" Piye asked, the first question of what Ahkmenrah knew to be a long series. Hopefully, if all went well, you would be willing to answer each question given.

"No," you answered quietly, barely a mumble.

"And how would you classify your mental state? How often would you say you're happy?" They continued in a clinical, curt tone that had Ahkmenrah worrying you might react poorly.

"Sometimes... I'm not hungry," was the answer you chose to that, leaving several questions that neither Ahkmenrah nor Piye could explain. They looked to each other, Piye seeking answers and Ahk answerless, giving Piye nothing more than a shrug.

"... alright. Do you feel this is caused by exterior or interior influences?"

"Um... both?"

Piye paused again, but resumed faster. The questions proceeded one after the other, Piye cataloguing your answers with a quick pen in a language Ahkmenrah couldn't speak. He had Piye in good faith – they never truly failed him, and despite their disagreements, beneath everything the two of them were still good friends. Now and then they'd have dinner at Piye's house, or sit in the gardens of the palace, and in each activity both of them found great enjoyment and peace. Currently, the only main issue was you. Unlike other times, Ahkmenrah was not willing to drop the issue, as this was far more important than anything he'd dealt with before.

"This may sound a little odd," Piye said, the words gaining Ahkmenrah's attention once more, "and I don't usually ask this, but can you tell me what phase the moon will be in next week?"

"It's... sort of big, more than halfway, but growing smaller," you said quietly, motioning vaguely with your hands as you tried your best to describe it.

With your answer in mind Piye stood, motioning discreetly to Ahkmenrah to join them in the other room, a hint that Ahk quickly took. He stood, casting you a smile before he followed after Piye.

The indoors of Piye's home were just as grand as the outdoors, with massive arches and indoor water pools, all brought together by the alabaster pillars and walls, each one painted in blue and green. Each pattern was different, splayed out and holding up the ceiling. The marble floor which had been the floor of the patio continued into the living space, shined so brightly he could see his face alongside his footsteps, clacking on the floor in the pristine rooms.

"Do you have a verdict already?" He asked, pushing away his eagerness and putting in its place a gentle curiosity.

"Your prisoner is a timekeeper," Piye answered immediately, as though it was important information, and to both of them it was.

Timekeepers were special – the only ones to know the time of day without a sundial, who knew the phases of the moon, who could calculate calendars eons into the future, planning for times when the sun blacked out and the comets flew across the sky of Nut's star-spangled skin. Hardly anyone had that type of talent, but it did come at a cost; the cost was different for most timekeepers, but the general consensus was that they did not fit into society without regulation and space to do their own things.

Ahkmenrah hadn't met many timekeepers in his time, only the one present during his father's rule. She had been quiet, and while Ahkmenrah hadn't many interactions with her, he saw a great deal of her behavior that set her apart from others. She _hated_ eye contact, that and physical touch; she only wore a certain fabric, Ahkmenrah couldn't remember which, but he recalled seeing her wearing the same clothes every single day. She was a lucky one, too – most timekeepers were seen as unmanageable children, and usually left for dead. All he really knew about her was that her talents were labelled so important and so Godly that despite being born in a poor house, she was given a place at court. Hardly anyone was given that opportunity – Ahkmenrah would venture to say _no one_ was given that opportunity besides, apparently, timekeepers.

"I... have a timekeeper?" He asked softly, caught up in shock. You filled in every definition he knew of the status, but that didn't make it less hard to believe, especially when his gazed flickered to you to find you curled over your lap once more.

"Listen, I know not every Pharaoh gets one and I know timekeepers are valuable, but you cannot make this person your timekeeper. Your people would kill you," Piye pleaded with him, grabbing his shoulder in attempts of grounding him and his wandering eye. He looked to them, directly in their eye, finding nothing but fear – fear for him.

"I am Pharaoh," he said. "Anything I declare is correct. If I say the clouds no longer hang in the sky, that night is day, and that we shall grow no more barley, it is so."

"Yes, if you want to be labelled a tyrant by history. Ahk, please. Don't do this to yourself," Piye murmured.

"I know, but a timekeeper is a valuable asset, and I know they won't be willing to _be_ an asset if I keep them in jail under the same death sentence," he said, frustration creeping up his shoulders and tensing his muscles.

"Ahk, listen to me," Piye said, placing their hands on either side of his face and forcing him to look at them, "you absolutely, under no circumstances, can do this. You cannot pretend your prisoner is normal, you cannot give them a new name, you cannot pretend they're something they aren't. I can heal past trauma, but not when it runs this deep. Your prisoner will always be one who murdered five people. I feel like you forget that sometimes."

"I can't let them die," he said with such vindication, such determination that Piye released their grip, sighing in defeat.

"Then use the law to your advantage. Your prisoner, they said that they were guilty, but it was not their fault. You'd need a full confession to get out of the death sentence, and even then they'd spend the rest of their life in jail. Does that sound like a happy life to you?" Piye told him, giving both advice and insight.

"It's better than killing someone," he said.

"You do realize that at some point during your reign, you _will_ need to kill some people, right? There's no escape from that. It's the Pharaoh's duty," Piye said, softer as they looked over his shoulder to you.

"But I can save someone this time. Piye, you're wonderful. I am indebted to you for your help, both with this and discovering my prisoner's talents," Ahkmenrah said with a small bow, earning a tired smile from Piye.

"I wonder how many times you've said that," they chuckled.

"Starting from the invasion or from when we met?"

"Both," they said with a shrug.

Patting Piye's shoulder with a grateful smile, Ahkmenrah left to speak to you, hoping you would be open to the idea. You'd really belong to him then – whether or not you'd still be his project he didn't know, but he could see you every day, without the guilt of having to execute you. Of course, the guilt of his true duties would always be there, but for you and your talents, it was a small cost.

"Hey," he started off with, soft as always as he knelt before you. "Piye says you're special. You've got a talent, meaning there's reason to spare you, so long as you make a full confession for your actions."

You didn't look up, but your breathing had gotten more uneven the more he spoke, so you were definitely hearing him. Whether or not you were up for his suggestion remained a mystery, but he persevered nonetheless.

"You'll need to have a name, I could give you one. Maybe... Omari? That means high born, I think. Do you like that name?" He asked, tilting his head to the side in hopes of catching your eye. Despite his attempts you did not meet his gaze.

"You'd be making calendars and such. I know it sounds dull, but it's an incredibly important job, priceless to Pharaohs like me. It'd give you something to do, since I'd still have to keep you locked up. Better than dying, though," he said, and you did not respond.

"You need a name anyway. Is Omari alright?"

"Yes," you mumbled, unmoving from your crumbled position.

"Alright. Um," Ahkmenrah turned, motioning Piye over. "It's getting pretty late. I think we should head back to the palace."

"Sounds like a good idea," Piye agreed, unable to decide whether to look Ahkmenrah in the eyes as he spoke or to focus on your huddled form.

Ahkmenrah helped you to your feet, doing his best to unravel your ball and keep you standing. When at last you stood you kept your head down, hair covering most of your face, and fists clenched. The walk back to the palace was slow, but the two of you caught no attention – you looked drunk, Ahkmenrah looked like a commoner, and the sight of people carrying their drunken friends around the city was not at all uncommon. Ahkmenrah himself had once been the drunk friend, although he got well and told off by Naguib when he found out. Naguib was technically his servant, but it didn't stop him from worrying constantly about Ahk and his well-being.

Sneaking back into the palace, Ahkmenrah led you through the well-lit halls, past the rooms crowded with meetings of happy, normal people. You looked away from them, wincing when the noise level grew high. Biting at his lip, he wondered if you'd even consider taking up his offer – he hoped to the Gods you would, but you were strange, and every time he thought he knew what you would do, you did something entirely different.

"Here we are," he breathed out, opening the door and revealing the dirt steps leading down into the chambers. You entered first, followed by him grabbing a torch off the wall, jogging after you and catching up with the light in hand.

"You don't keep many here," you whispered, staring at the ground ahead of you.

"No, it's not a usual punishment," he agreed, nodding. Most of the time, punishment was pain towards the body, or a dismemberment of sorts – those punishments he refused to watch.

Unlocking the iron grates, he opened the door, allowing you to enter before he locked it behind you. You faced him with an unreadable expression, your hands placed delicately at your sides.

"I don't belong here," you said to him, turning to the back of your cell when you finished and sitting yourself in your usual corner.

"I know. Please think of my offer, I really think it will help you," he said, telling you one last time before he left the catacombs, heading up into the brightly lit palace corridors.

In the days following your diagnoses, he visited you every evening after dinner, bringing you food himself. You still hadn't said anything about his offer, a fact that worried him greatly. His advisors and Officials were beginning to breathe down his back about getting you executed, to finish your sentence, as the extra worth of all the food, warmth, clothes, and space was beginning to weigh a heavy cost. It wasn't too great of a demand, but the issue was nonetheless one frequently brought up, and Ahkmenrah was starting to have issues making up with new excuses. He'd have to get your decision soon, and that would mean pushing your boundaries a little. With luck, he could do so without ruining your trust, nor starting an problem too strenuous to overcome.

Although this mind was crowded and cluttered with his worries, wondering how the future would turn out to be, he continued to visit you, always carrying a torch with him to give you a semblance of natural light. He found the longer your prolonged stay in the cells grew, the more you hated the light. That aspect of you concerned him greatly – one from Kemet could not hate the light, and by extension, the sun. Perhaps he could take you to his garden, show you warmth and life – the thought of that sent a smile to his face, a deep happiness settling in his chest from his imaginings.

Down the steps he padded, his sandals soft against the raw earth. With torch in hand he cast his shadows against the thin walls, flickering in the flame and dancing upon the cell bars leading to yours, where he set the torch down a rung so as to avoid you flinching away.

"Have you come up with an answer to my proposition?" He asked, sitting criss-cross on the floor outside your cell. Inside, you sat in your corner, leaned against the wall, hugging your legs close to your chest.

Nothing.

"Would you join me in a walk around our gardens? I'd like to discuss a few things with you," Ahkmenrah asked of you, hearing only the shuffling of your skirt before you emerged from the dark of your cell.

"Okay," you agreed quietly, staring at the ground as Ahkmenrah smiled softly, standing and unlocking your cell door.

"Thank you for agreeing," he said, offering his hand for you to take, but you did not respond.

Dropping his hand he took the torch, holding it to his left and keeping you to his right. From the cells to the stairs and up into the hallway, you squinted in the bright light, contrasted so deeply from your usual darkness. He set the torch back in its place, leading you towards the towering arch leading outside. There you found a large pond of water, filled with lilies and fish, centered around a small island covered in grass and bushes full with berries. Your eyes widened at the sight of that – Ahkmenrah assumed it was a good thing, as he always found the garden to be a beautiful place, and hoped you would find it that way as well. The edge of the pond was made of shining white alabaster, carved well and accurate to the plethora of life inhabiting the palace garden. Around the sandstone path encircling the pond, grass and palm trees grew, bushes and vines full of sweet-scented flowers filling the air with a life so unique to spring. An ibis found itself a home within the upper branches of the largest tree in the garden, sitting opposite to the entrance on the other side of the pond. Leaves rustled in the breeze, the tree's shadows shining speckled light onto the grass below, allowing for a shade one could easily relax in.

"It's beautiful, no?" Ahkmenrah murmured, one hand on each of your shoulders as he stood behind you, speaking the words right beside your ear. You nodded thoughtlessly, still staring ahead at the sight before you. "You could come here every now and then if you confessed. And with your talents, you could stay in one of the towers, you'd have a view of the city and of this garden. You'd still be locked of course, but I could accompany you places."

"Your pity," you said, barely speaking the words past mouthing the letters, "is kinder than... anything I've felt."

"Have you ever been shown kindness?" He asked, moving out from behind you to stand at your side once more.

"Yes," you said as you stepped into the garden, approaching the pond and looking into your reflection, "I have now."

A grin snuck across his face as he followed after you, kneeling by your side as you dipped your bare feet into the water, wiggling your toes in the cool temperature.

It was only for a second, but you did smile – for the first time you smiled, and though it lasted a very short while, Ahkmenrah caught sight of you. If he had ever seen anything more beautiful he couldn't recall it, stunned by how... _normal_ you looked. Perhaps that was the beauty in life, seeing happiness within those who knew it so rarely, and as you smiled again when a turtle swam by your legs, Ahkmenrah was assured of it. He'd reached that humanity he'd been vying so desperately for, that hint of true goodness behind the terrified creature he'd first met. All that was left was to convince you to join him in a sense – to belong to him in an adoring way, to be his little project forever.

He could do this – he knew it the second you smiled. He just needed time, and that meant watching over you, and making sure his other Officials weren't wise to his antics.

"So you're not yet convinced of joining me?" He asked, earning a small shake of your head. "It's a high position. Unfortunately, due to your trespasses you wouldn't get the respect, but no one would doubt your capabilities."

"Would... would I have to talk much?" You asked as your fingers ran through the pond water, sending ripples across the quiet surface.

"No, not if you don't want to. You'd be with me more than anyone else, so you could just speak to me, and then I could speak to others who require your knowledge. Piye does that sometimes, they don't like talking to priests so they whisper to me, and I tell priests what they need to hear," Ahkmenrah explained with a smile, hoping you'd find his solution amicable.

"I'd stay in the tower?"

"Yeah, any tower you like. Whichever one you want more, some of them have views of the desert, or of the Aur, or the city and its gardens," he said, an offer that had you perking up.

The two of you sat there a little longer, enjoying the sunshine and the gentle sway of the trees as he informed you further upon the job offer. You listened this time, intent to hear his words, even if you didn't meet his eye. Your unwillingness to face him was something he was growing accustomed to, and even though he didn't particularly enjoy it, he understood your discomfort now.

All the while as you talked, fish swimming by and birds flying overhead, he watched you – the moments where the corners of your lips turned up just slightly, the moments when you closed your eyes and breathed slowly, the tapping of your finger against the alabaster, the relaxation seeping into your shoulders till you looked nothing but human. Full of emotions, both melancholy and happiness, assiduity clear in the words you spoke and the blush growing on your cheeks, bringing life to once dull and dirtied skin.

By the time Ahkmenrah's next court meeting came up, you hadn't made a decision, but as he left you in your cell once more, you bowed your head in thanks. He noted it with great intrigue and happiness – you'd never bowed before him willingly, and while bowing wasn't a matter of great importance to him, it was another step forward he appreciated well.

After dinner that evening he brought a plate of food down to you, carrying it in his right as he held the torch in his left, lighting the way in hopes that he wouldn't trip. You sat leant against the cell bars, sitting up when you caught sight of the torch's light. He smiled upon spotting you, kneeling to your height and presenting the plate in front of you, sitting down in the dirt as you began to eat.

"Do you have an answer?" He asked when you were halfway done with your plate. You paused your slow eating, looking up to him.

"I don't belong here," you told him, a phrase he could've sworn you'd said before.

"I know, that's why I'm trying to get you out of -"

"No," you said, interrupting him by reaching through the grate and putting your hand over his mouth. "I don't belong here, in Kemet."

"... you want to leave?"

"I want to go to the field of reeds," you whispered.

His breath caught in his throat. The field of reeds – one could only reach there through death, through the trials of the Duat and through the measuring of the heart. Would your heart weigh heavy on the scales? As much as he wanted to believe you'd make it to that peace, he doubted you would, as murder and desecration was not a matter taken lightly by the Gods. The crime for those whose heart weighed too heavy was to be turned to nothing, and the thought of all you were turning to nothing more than dust had him shivering.

"I want you to stay with me, please," he said suddenly, taking your hand from his mouth and pressing it against his chest, atop his heart. You stared at where your skin met his, electrified by the warmth of his bare skin against your cold touch. Swallowing thick, you watched as he held his hand over yours, unable to move or look to anything else.

You looked him in the eye, and as he met your gaze he found nothing but apathy – apathy for yourself, for the world around you. There was nothing behind you, nothing but sorrow for him. Sorrow that you weren't what he expected. Sorrow that you couldn't be anything else. Sorrow that you couldn't be his.

He left you there upon realizing you would say nothing more, letting your hand draw back into your cell as you crawled back into your corner. Biting at his cheek he forced himself to leave you, to give up, if only for tonight.

The next morning, he awoke with an emotion he could easily identify, considering how frequently he'd recently been feeling it: stress. It exhausted itself in his chest, worrying constantly on how to get you to confess, how to stall for time from his Officials, the daily ongoings of Pharaonic life, how well his people fared, the rebuilding of city parts after the invasion that had already happened a year ago. How quickly the time passed, and time seemed to only be speeding up the older Ahkmenrah grew.

Before he could even make it to the dining room Gyasi, one of the head treasurers, approached him with a line of people in tow. Gyasi was much taller than Ahkmenrah, and much older too, always wearing long robes, and always mentioning how Ahk's father used to adore him. Ahkmenrah could care less for him, but he did well with money.

"Some of your Officials and I have talked, and we think it's high time you chose a date for the prisoner's death," he said as he walked at Ahkmenrah's side.

"First of all, their name is Omari, and second, I can decide when the execution will take place," he snapped, keeping the demeanor of royalty his father had implemented so well into him. It wasn't often he used it, but it was an effective tool to have, and the only one that his Officials would listen to.

"It's been six months. It needs to happen this week, it's a drain on our resources," Gyasi pleaded.

"It's one person," Ahkmenrah replied dully, pushing open the door to the kitchens.

"Yes, we all know that, but keeping prisoners is not... normal, for the state," he said, stopping in front of Ahkmenrah as he turned to face Gyasi. "Word has gotten out, too. The citizens are not pleased with your judgement, and if you continue to stall, I don't think you'll have a happy city. If you don't come up with a date, we're doing it today."

"You would go against my rulings?" Ahkmenrah asked, his eyes squinted suspiciously.

"To keep out a revolt? Yes," he said with much determination, and Ahkmenrah saw the world crashing around him.

A week – he gave himself a week to get your confession, to convince you that you could be happy with him. Yet every day that passed by you said nothing to him, nothing at all, and your silence terrified and angered him equally. If only you could see the big picture, but every time he tried to show you you closed your eyes. It's too bright, you'd say. It's too much. Too loud. Too high. Too hard.

With each passing second he felt more and more helpless, aided by your inability to see his side. Over the next several days leading up to his chosen end date, his distaste for himself grew, till he might as well have truly hated himself and his actions. You were good – you had such kindness in you, such a good heart that was plain for him to see, yet no one else could. If only he could convince his people, convince his officials, convince _you_ , and therein lay the issue from which all his stress and anger came from: he was alone. No one thought you were worth saving. Not even you.

So there he stood alone, rope in hand as two of his soldiers fitted you beneath the guillotine. The tweed rope he held was all that kept the blade from falling, falling against your neck, _through_ it – and he felt weak. His legs were numb, and for a moment he thought he couldn't stand. Somehow he remained upright, staring at you, and you looked to him, meeting his eye.

"Thank you," you murmured, closing your eyes.

And he let go.

And he never forgave himself.


End file.
